Metro

The other night my date asked a question that seems to be on everyone’s mind: “Are you gay or just well-spoken?”

 
I’ve been taking this grief since elementary, when other kids wondered aloud whether I was a boy or a girl. Evidently, I have some feminine properties. For starters, I’m nice to people (you can see how that might throw them off). I cross my legs wrong and own a melon baller. I love my cat.

But the thing people can’t get past is the messenger bag. Barney’s assured me that it wouldn’t look womanly if I strapped it across my chest like Chewbacca.

 
The bag still had its tags when I sat down to poker with my buddies.

“Nice purse,” said Ernie. “I like how it matches your shoes.”

I’ve done everything to skirt-er, get around-the man bag. I carried a backpack but always felt like I was on my way to the bus stop, looking to trade my PB&J for a Twinkie. I also tried a tote bag, a laptop case, a toiletry kit, and then just stuffing my pockets like a hamster.

Ernie asked what’s so important that I have to carry it on my person. To be exact: digital camera, mp3 player, appointment book, wallet, cell phone, bank ledger, notepad, pens, cartoon book, glasses, sunblock, Chapstick, hand sanitizer, gum, business cards, harmonica, and a condom that may have expired.

We also found toenail clippers, but I swear they were planted.

I will have you know that when the gang went to Mexico and got stranded without sunblock, they sang a different tune about my “purse.”

I used to be so normal. I spat and surfed and used dirty socks for oven mitts. Now when I vacuum, I back out slowly so as not to disturb the carpet triangles. When buddies use the bathroom, I say, “You didn’t pee standing up, did you? It splashes.”

I’ve developed an urgent need for symmetry. It bothers me, for instance, when Michael Jackson wears only one glove or Pisa doesn’t fix that stupid tower. If I ever lose an arm, I’ll have to seriously consider, for the sake of balance, removing the opposite leg.

People also accuse me of liking clothes. If they only knew. Sometimes I press against the store window and talk dirty to myself … “I’m gonna buy the hell out of that jacket.”

Regular guys don’t think about matching. They’re happy so long as their clothes say something about them. Like “NASCAR.”

My recent date said that she doesn’t trust a man who jogs all the time. Her exact words: “If you can fit into my pants, you can’t get into them.”

How do I keep finding these women? I must have terrible depth perception.

Gay men sometimes hit on me. I’m flattered, gosh, but never know what to say. In the supermarket, a man followed me, vaguely, for three aisles before cornering me in the deli.

“My name’s Peter.” He shook my hand. “Nice grip.”
Um … Um … I’m just well-spoken.

I find myself acting tough to offset the attention. At the gym I stick out my chest and talk like Keanu Reeves: “Hey, dude. Nice shoes…” (applying Chapstick in a manly fashion).

In case you’re concerned that you yourself may be metrosexual, I have compiled a list for you to carry in your wallet.

You might be metro if …
* you prefer bubble baths to showers.
* you speak in semicolons.
* you carry your own salad dressing.
* you’ve been “meaning to have sex.”
* you refrigerate your face-care products.
* your ringtone is “Fur Elise in C minor.”
* you’ve ever had a chopstick callous.
* you watch Hugh Grant movies on purpose.
* you avoid unflattering light.
* you know about unflattering light.
* you get anxious when your belt doesn’t match your shoes.
* you read while stuck in traffic.
* you have an opinion about thread count.
* you floss before bed no matter how drunk you are.
* when someone slurps at a restaurant, you pause significantly.
* the wallet where you store this list is inside a bag strapped across your chest.

* * *

Jason Love is an award-winning humor columnist, stand-up comedian, and author of “Snapshots: The Big Picture,” available at Amazon.com. Check out more of his work at www.jasonlove.com.

They’re coming. They’re taking over. The economy is the least of your worries.
There is a gigantic swirling vortex in outer space scientists are not aware of, that is funneling alien organisms that will ultimately rob the food chain of its life-giving nutrients, as well as spread impotency among people. Read the rest of this article »

Rex and I had been watching a PBS special on TV. The program was about bats; I have always liked them and found them fascinating to observe. Read the rest of this article »

Maybe it’s me. Maybe I’m turning into one of those crotchety old people. I don’t know. I seem to have lost my patience these days, with dating (or trying to) and other things, even the incidentals of life.
While doing my laundry the other day, I found myself wrestling with my hangers. They were all tangled together, defiantly refusing to comply with my wishes to untangle. I pulled and pulled and finally catapulted them across the room in frustration. And, of course, there was more than one of my socks that had gone missing again. But with my mood, I guess I would have taken cover too. I took a deep breath and tried to compose myself, but couldn’t quite get there. (Where is my Ativan?) Read the rest of this article »

Man, what a rough winter. Not the temperature, but the humiliation. For months my down coat has leaked feathers through the lining. Then, during each workday, bits of fluff waved to the world from my back and butt. My work subordinates…oh, wait…I have no subordinates…um, my co-workers clucked through staff meetings and hid corn in my desk. Read the rest of this article »

Have a bad year and wishing for better luck next year? Try eating some black-eyed peas. Black-eyed peas on New Year’s Day are a southern tradition. There seems to be little agreement on how this custom began, though, or why a food as humble as black-eyed peas might be considered lucky. Read the rest of this article »

It’s not often the news means something to the average guy.
Why, for example, should I care that, according to Fox News, Britain’s Prince William has been forbidden “to associate with Paris (Hilton)?”
Read the rest of this article »

When did the American workforce abolish secretaries?
Heard recently on a radio commercial was the celebration of “Administrative Assistants Day.” It sounded so odd to the ear that it cast doubt that any self-respecting chauvinistic boss would want to chase one of those around the desk at the office. Read the rest of this article »

The other day I was flipping through television channels with the anticipation of something catching my attention. My attention is not picky, and can usually be caught as easily as a trout at a sportsman exhibition fishpond.
But as luck would have it, not one of the 13 channels had anything worth biting. And yes, you read that correctly, only 13 channels. No cable. No dish. I only spend 30 seconds of my life finding out there is nothing on television, whereas those of you with platinum cable or satellite subscriptions lose 30 minutes of your life flipping through 2,137 channels before you arrive at the same conclusion. Read the rest of this article »

Humor for Lexophiles (Lovers of Words)
1. I wondered why the baseball was getting bigger. Then it hit me.
2. Police were called to a day care where a three-year-old was resisting a rest.
3. Did you hear about the guy whose whole left side was cut off? He’s all right now.
4. To write with a broken pencil is pointless.
5. The short fortune teller who escaped from prison was a small medium at large. Read the rest of this article »

Performance EnhancingIt’s true that stories of steroids
Enhanced the growth of our tabloids
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March birthdays: As you celebrate your birthday this March, remember that your greatest fortune is the large number of friends you have. Don’t worry about the fact that they are all feline friends. Don’t worry that others call you “strange,” “creepy,” or “that weird cat lady who lives on the corner.” Worry instead about the amount of cat hair in your cake batter.

ARIES (3/21-4/19): Nature, time, and patience are the three best physicians. Lucky for you. With the state of health care the way it is, they are the only three physicians you can afford.

TAURUS (4/20-5/20): Happy news is on its way to you. It has been on its way to you for years. It has not reached you because it fell behind a desk at the post office. I’m not sure which one. You might try one of the post offices in eastern Europe.

GEMINI (5/21-6/21): Your many hidden talents will become obvious to those around you. Consider relegating your thieving to night, rather than day, and to strangers, rather than friends and family, and to neighboring towns, rather than your own.

CANCER (6/22-7/22): Life will throw you a pleasant curve. Not a Barry Zito type of curve, but a typical sandlot curve you can punch into right field because the right fielder usually has the weakest arm. Hit life’s pleasant curves toward the right fielder. The unpleasant ones you don’t have a chance at anyway.

LEO (7/23-8/22): Excitement and intrigue follow you closely wherever you go. They never quite catch you, but you can be sure they are following at a safe distance so as not to destroy the ennui and boredom you so carefully cultivate.

VIRGO (8/23-9/22): Make two grins grow where there was only a grouch before. Easier said than done, you say? Not at all! Luckily you have numerous chins and can manage all three at once!

LIBRA (9/23-10/22): A pleasant surprise is in store for you. But it will be extremely unpleasant if you have a pacemaker or a history of heart trouble.

SCORPIO (10/23-11/21): It takes more than a good memory to have good memories. It takes an exotic lifestyle, fame, fortune, and numerous lovers. So to improve your memory, forget the fish oil and start playing the lottery.

SAGITTARIUS (11/22-12/21): A thrilling time is in your immediate future. Of course, these words were written a month ago to hit deadline. That thrilling time is gone forever.

CAPRICORN (12/22-1/19): Ideas are like children; there are none so wonderful as your own. Of course, your own ideas usually come from someone else. So when studying that family portrait, you might ask yourself why your wife has always insisted on taking her yoga classes so late at night.

AQUARIUS (1/20-2/18): Many people find beauty in the ordinary. You find beauty not in the ordinary, but only in the beautiful. Do not lose this ability. It is the only one you have.

PISCES (2/19-3/20): Something you lost will soon turn up. Namely, your heartburn.

I’m the only one I know who’s had fun during a colonoscopy.

The sole reason I signed up for it was because my brother had recently had a cancerous polyp removed from his colon, and he urged me to get checked out, too. Fine. I’ll go. Just don’t bug me anymore, OK? Big brothers can be such a pain.
I’d heard all the terrible stories and looked forward to the procedure about as much as one would look forward to a beheading. I hadn’t planned ahead of time on yukking it up with the Kaiser staff, but once I got there, I was the belle of the ball, or should I say the Countess of Camp Colon.

 
Just two days prior to the procedure, I’d received a shipment of copies of my first book: They Had Me at Meow: Tails of Love from the Homeless Cats of Buster Hollow. It’s about my thirteen years of caring for a colony of smart, funny feral cats. I brought along a copy and some business cards but left them with my partner, Steve, in the waiting room while I was whisked off to begin the epic journey of Rosie’s innards.

 
A case could be made that I was overtaken by a bout of “whistling past the graveyard,” because as soon as the nurse with the clipboard began asking me the standard medical questions, I started babbling away about the cats of Buster Hollow, about my book and the fact that I planned to use it to raise money for organizations that care for homeless cats, blah, blah, blah.

 
“And,” the nurse said as she proceeded through her list, “have you ever had diabetes, cancer, or…”

 
“No, but I sure have a great book about cats, you wanna see it? Don’t go away, I’ll be right back.” Steve was shocked to see me prance back into the waiting room, wearing the hospital gown over my clothes, and paw through my canvas bag to find the book. “See ya,” I said breezily as I looked over my shoulder and raced back to the procedure suite clutching my book.

 
“Well, that’s lovely,” the nurse said as I proudly held up the book. “Now, then, we need to finish the paperwork.”

 
“Ok, shoot,” I said, still holding up my book so the other nurses could see it and cluck approvingly.

 
“Do you have a family history of…”

 
“Oh, wait! I forgot to get my business cards,” I said and rushed back to Steve and my canvas bag.

 
“Here,” I said and handed one to her as well as to several other nurses admiring the book.

 
“Why, thank you,” I said as one by one they told me how lovely it was.

 
“OK, time to start the IV,” my nurse said. “Do you have any problems with this?”

 
“Uh, no,” I said, and turned my head. “Just make sure you get it right the first time, ha, ha.”

 
“I’ll be very careful,” she said, and after only two tries, the IV was installed and waiting for the good drugs!

 
“I forgot to mention that I’m very sensitive to medication-a little goes a LONG way with me, you know? If 50 mg. would be the normal dose, it would only take 10 mg. to make my head spin off its axis.”

 
“Sure, just tell that to the nurse who gives you the sedation.”

 
“Ok, but…”

 
“They’re ready for you now, Ms. Sorenson,” the assistant said as she came to fetch me.

 
“Oh, well, all right-let the games begin!” I said and picked up book, my business cards, and purse and followed her into the procedure room. She asked me to undress from the waist down and just leave my things on the chair behind the curtain.

 
After I’d exposed my bottom and pulled the gown around it, I sauntered over to the table and hopped on. The assistant took my blood pressure and placed the oxygen-thingie into my nose, while the nurse-with-the-good-drugs consulted with the doctor about the dosage. She then injected the Fentanyl and Versed into the IV line.

 
I don’t think I was ever totally out of it because I remember seeing something pink and mobile on the movie screen in front of me. I also have a faint memory of unclutching my hand to reveal a white business card and handing it to the doctor right before she inserted the probe.
“D’youlikecatsthishwebshitesheckitoooooooooooowt?” I heard someone say.

 
* * *

 
Rosie Sorenson is an award-wining writer whose work has appeared in the Los Angeles Times, the San Francisco Chronicle, the Pittsburgh Tribune-Review, and other publications. Her new photo essay book, They Had Me at Meow: Tails of Love from the Homeless Cats of Buster Hollow, is about her thirteen years of loving and being loved by a colony of smart, funny feral cats. To learn more and to purchase the book, please visit her website: www.theyhadmeatmeow.com.